


Family outing

by Jennarated_Anomaly



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 04:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennarated_Anomaly/pseuds/Jennarated_Anomaly
Summary: They have adventures often.  Sometimes, they’re simple things, like going to the cinema or to the aquarium, or just going to see her mum and Pete at the mansion.  And sometimes, they’re much more complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

“Didn’t think it was gonna rain today”, Rose observed, one hand planted on the sorry old window pane, the other just below the tie of her dressing gown, resting gently on her bump.

It wasn’t pouring, but the rain was steady, soaking the pavement with sloppy kisses and washing down the glass beneath her fingers.

She closed her eyes and focused on it—on the strangely-sweet smell of wet earth, the cool breeze from the little window over the kitchen sink, the lullaby of falling drops and splashing cars and rustling trees, the comfort of _home_ on a rainy autumn day—and then, with artful craft and motherly care, she shared it over the bond.

“Rain doesn’t bother us one bit, does it?”, she whispered. “Might need to rethink the park, though.”

So, abandoning the window, she listed alternatives: _library_ , as she set the kettle; _museum_ , as she steeped her mint tea; _gran and pop’s_ , as she sipped at the table; _theatre_ , as she cradled her belly.

And when she placed her mug in the sink, she continued, keeping on as she traced the walls toward her bedroom, where she dropped her gown and gathered her outfit from on top the kicked-up duvet.

It was when she stepped into her polka-dotted galoshes, that it came to her: _the planetarium_.

It was perfect: they _loved_ to watch the stars, but hadn’t been able to lately. It’d been so easy at first, when the nights were warm, and the summer grass pricked gently at her toes as she tipped her face up, breathing in the starlight she so sorely missed. But as summer greeted fall, it got harder—and not just because of the weather, all cold wind and muddy ground and cloudy skies. 

No, as fall came, she got bigger— _both of them_ got bigger—and suddenly it wasn’t so easy anymore.

 _Things have certainly changed_ , she thought, and she smoothed a hand over her stomach affectionately, sharing her love and pride, while concealing her grief.

With a deep breath, she gathered her keys and bag, waddled out the door—thank God for first-floor flats—and turned toward the bus stop.

It wasn’t far, but she didn’t mind either way: better with two. 

_Best with three_. Her chest hurt.

But she could _do_ this, she reminded herself, and she practiced a smile as she skirted a puddle, arms out like airplane wings. She managed a laugh at the squeak of her boots as she boarded the bus and twiddled her fingers at the elderly driver, then swiped the glittering raindrops from her hair, the length of her pink slicker before taking her seat.

She could do this, and it’d be _worth it_ because one day, the seat beside her wouldn’t be empty.

And who knew how soon that would be, since she couldn’t very well visit a regular doctor, and Torchwood was still so _new_. They might have the best and brightest minds, but without proof and evidence and… _experiments_ , they had only theories. And Rose figured their theories were hardly better than her own, based on experience and knowledge and instinct.

None of which, unfortunately, gave her any idea as to how long they’d be together like this: a two-for-one special, BOGO. But if the rate of her swelling belly was any clue, they’d be meeting sooner, rather than later. That, or she might just burst like a slitheen doused with vinegar.

She scrunched her nose at the thought, and the woman in the seat across the aisle gave her a funny look. 

So she made an even weirder face, and—there it was!—Elara laughed too. Elara or Aurora. Or Lyra. She hadn’t decided. 

And then her stomach twisted: what name would _he_ like? What names would he suggest? Was there a special Time Lord way to name babies, something she didn’t know, something—no, _another_ thing—she was gonna do wrong? What’s one more, anyway? She was gonna be an awful mum, and who was kidding? She couldn’t do this on her own, she didn’t even—

1, 2, 3, 4, inhale. 1, 2, 3, 4, exhale. 1, 2, 3, 4, in—.

The woman across the way was watching her again, this time, concerned. 

Rose did her best to smile: “’M okay, thanks.”

It’s not like she _knew_ Aurora-Elara-Lyra—maybe she didn’t like any of those names—was laughing. It was just a sort of _blublublublu_ in her stomach, like…Like something… _moving_ , in her _stomach_.

But in her _head_ , it felt like light, like beauty and life and laughter.

And it was fantastic. 

Ticket in hand, she stood at the doors. They were pretty, adorned with big, colorful signs for the children, pamphlets for teachers and parents. There was even a little shop to left of the entrance, filled with all sorts of educational toys and cute plushies—maybe she’d check it out.

Her heart forgot a beat.

Maybe she’d check it out _later_. Another time.

1, 2, 3, 4.

And as she took her seat: 1, 2, 3, 4. 

He’d be rambling by now, annoying all the patrons before the show even started. They’d think they were in the clear when the lights dimmed, when the curator settled behind his well-worn podium to start the lecture—but _oh_ , how they’d be wrong! No doubt he’d last less than five minutes before taking over the presentation himself, falling behind the cues when he got too excited about some random galaxy that wasn’t even on display above their heads. 

He’d tell histories that people didn’t understand, of the planets they’d never heard of—planets that didn’t even exist here, and… And he’d hold her hand. If they were standing up there, he’d hold her hand as he dragged her across the stage in some sort of metaphor for space travel. 

And if they were sitting? If they were sitting because her ankles hurt or her back ached or she was just too tired to keep up with him like this, _pregnant_ , then maybe he’d wrap an arm around her. Maybe he’d give a private show, a special lecture just for them, for their _family_. Maybe he’d tilt his head back—before the show even started because as always, he’s just so _excited_ —and his hair would tickle her face because _of course_ he’s leaning closer than he has to.

Maybe she’d laugh then, pretend to scold him. And maybe he’d laugh too, and give her that look—the one that’s like watching the first stars spark to life after the sunset, when the last rays fade and twilight takes and all of a sudden you’re holding your breath, like ‘maybe this is it. Maybe they’ve gone and left you. Maybe tonight they won’t come back, and you’ll never know if they were ever really there to begin with.’ 

And then you see it: the first star. Then another, and the next, and all the rest—until the sky is made of them, and you can breathe again. You can _laugh_ , and you do; they never left you, wouldn’t leave you. How could you doubt something as glorious as the stars themselves? 

It’s not like they _promised_ , but…you _know_ , don’t you? Does it need saying?

Maybe.

And maybe he’d say it, then. Maybe he'd finish what he couldn't on that beach in Norway. Maybe he’d tell them both.

Maybe.

She closed her eyes.

 _He’d love you_ , she promised, as much with her words as with every fiber of her being. _I’m sure of it_.

_I just wish—_

“Show’s over, Miss.”

Rose wiped indelicately at her face, squinted blurry, burning eyes to read the little badge pinned to his jumper: ‘Wilfred’.

“Thank you, Wilfred.”

“Was it that bad?”, he asked, easing into the velvety seat next to hers. “Knew I shouldn’t’ve told them Pluto wasn’t a planet anymore…”

She laughed—"no. No, it was great, really.”—and his eyes lit up.

“Well, that’s high praise, seeing as how you missed the best part”, he said.

She didn’t notice the silver tray until he offered it to her, stacked modestly with space-themed sugar cookies. All were coated in perfect, glossy icing—rich blues and pearly whites, sunshine yellow, burning orange—and most were topped with miniature decorations.

“We pass ‘em out to the kids at the end. Go on.”

Carefully, she pulled a spaceship from the stack: a sleek, white-and-black shuttle on a thick, round cookie, tiny edible ball-bearings glinting like stars in the depth of space.

“Thank you.”

Wilfred looked her over, critical-yet-gentle.

“Best take another; my Donna’ll kill me if I bring the rest home to Ella and Josh again. Course, I’ll still take a _few_. No harm in a couple sweets for my grandbabies, now, is there?”

He smiled mischievously, but underneath those wicked eyes and rosy cheeks, was the same look her mum gave her. Pete did it, too. And Mickey. The cashier at the grocer, the woman on the bus.

She bit her lip, and picked one at random: a burning sun. She wished she could put it back.

But she couldn’t, didn’t, and by the time the bus signaled her stop, the melted red-and-orange icing had stained her fingers like the grief that stained her heart.

‘ _Am I ever gonna see you again?_ ’

‘ _You can’t._ ’


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was a long time coming. I've had it written for ages, I just wasn't happy with it, and wanted to read it over with fresh eyes before posting. 
> 
> Turns out that's a lot easier to do when you're working on something else: I'd gotten stuck on my series rewrite, and started a Broadchurch fic. *Insert shameless self-plug here*

Mickey was already in pyjamas, spread the full length of the sofa as he watched some sort of match or game or something on the telly, which he muted before she’d even shut the door behind her.

“Hey.”

“Hey”, she echoed, hanging her jacket on peg near the door.

She toed off her boots and dropped her bag, set the cookies in a paper towel on the kitchen counter; she didn’t want them, but she couldn’t just throw them away.

“How was it?”

“Good.”

Scrubbing her hands, she stayed silent, pretending she could leave the conversation there. But she knew Mickey wouldn’t let her, and she loved him for it. So, as much and as little as she wanted to talk about it, she dried her hands and joined him on the sofa.

“D’you girls go see him?”, he asked, nonchalant and focused on the game. He wasn’t ignoring her, though: he was waiting, letting her lead.

She snuggled under the arm he offered. “How’d you know?”

“Gut feeling.” He shrugged as if it weren’t proof that he was absolutely, undeniably the best ex-boyfriend / best friend / flat-mate, ever. “Plus, it’s been a while since, you know, you had a ‘family outing’.”

She shifted, rubbed circles over the baby, and practically whispered: “d’you reckon it’s not enough?”

She felt his eyes settle on her, but didn’t meet them.

“D’you think it’s too much? Mum says I should ‘move on’, says it’s ‘time’, said we had our good-bye and now I’ve got to think about me an’ the baby, and that I can’t keep doing this ‘cause it’s only gonna make me sicker—”

“Rose…”

“But Micks, I _can’t_. I can’t just not think about him: how the hell could I forget when I have to pee more than I don’t-have-to-pee, when I get sick all the time, when I can’t sleep, when I feel her move—or don’t feel her move and freak out? Or when people ask me about him, or when I’m due or what name we’ve picked, or when I see—”

“Babe—”

“When I see these perfect families? Just, _happy_. _Together_ , and they _love_ each other and—and all I’ve got’s a ‘quite right, too’ and an alien baby that I don’t even know what to do with and I don’t want to do this alone ‘cuz I’m gonna be a terrible mum and—" 

“Breathe.”

“—and I _miss_ him! God, I miss him and I just want to go _home_ —I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

“Rose”, he slid off the sofa to kneel in front of her, taking gentle hold of her arms, just below her shoulders. “I hear you, babe. I know you miss him—heck, I even miss ‘im—and we can talk about this if you need to, but I need you to breathe first, right? Breathe.”

She tried, and couldn’t. Tried again, and choked. Tried again, and—

“Good! Good, see? You’ve got this!”

_Breathing_. She couldn’t even breathe without the Doctor.

Mickey used his sleeve to wipe her face. It smelled like pizza. She felt nauseous.

“I thought”, she hiccupped, “I thought: we go out, me an’ her, all the time. We go on our own adventures, do everything together, obviously. I’m not…forgetting her or ignoring her, or whatever it is mum thinks I’m doing. It’s her, _she_ forgets—”

She fiddled with one of the little strings dangling off his hoodie, counting: 1, 2, 3, 4.

“She forgets it’s not just us. The Doctor’s family, too. And it’s not fair! I can’t just forget him; I can’t just ‘move on’, or ‘focus on family’—because he is family, and family—"

Mickey smiled, and it calmed her as much as it irritated her. “I know you’re not quoting Lilo and Stitch right now.”

She smiled despite herself.

“I thought I could…save it all up, all the…feelings. Keep ‘em tucked away, like mum said, but then have it my way, too. So when we go out to see the stars, that’s our time with him. That’s our time to miss him, to tell him we love him, to talk about all the things that are happening and what we’re happy about and scared of and—I don’t know—to just, _pretend_. Pretend we’re a family. Just for a little bit.”

Mickey pulled his sleeve back over his fingers in preparation.

“Oi”, Rose squirmed out of reach, “that’s gross!”

“’S not gross, it’s helping!”

She laughed.

“Fine”, he relented, untucking his hand and reclaiming his seat beside her, arm raised in invitation. “C’mere babe— _babes_.”

She leaned into him. “Bet you think I’m stupid.”

“No, I think you’re amazing. And I think you’re gonna be a great mum. And I think you love him—and her—and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

"Thanks."

They watched the match in silence, Mickey pulling the throw blanket from the back of the couch around her shoulders, and when it’d finished, he tugged her up.

“C’mon, can’t sleep here. Can you imagine what he’d say if he knew I’d let you sleep on the couch like this?”

She squeezed his hands. “Yeah. Yeah, I can.”


End file.
